The Fall (19 page)

“I got caught up in my career. I just didn’t want to see her pain. I was selfish and it almost cost me my mother. I
am
to blame for that, Dallas. I should’ve been here, for her. What kind of man deserts his own mother?”

“You didn’t,” I said, taking the dish from his hand. “You just got lost in your own pain for a while.” He looked up to me, his eyes filled with unshed tears and nodded quickly before walking away.

“Dean—” I said to his retreating back. He stopped briefly, keeping his back to me as I fought to keep my voice steady.

“You are a good man, and a good son. Please believe me. And if you won’t believe me, believe her. There is no love lost here. She doesn’t blame you for anything. She’s fine and she adores you.”

“And what about you, Dallas?” When I said nothing, I saw his shoulders sag as he continued to make his way out of the room.

After two more shows with his mother, I excused myself and stepped out onto the porch as the sun was setting. The overgrown garden lit up with lightening bugs, and I smiled at their arrival. It was a surprisingly cool night as I breathed in the smell of the freshly cut grass, courtesy of Dean, and enjoyed the peace. I heard the door open behind me, but kept facing the front lawn.

“Rita should be here in a few hours.” He walked out onto the porch just as the crickets started their symphony.

“I’m fine. Really, it’s been a relaxing day. I don’t get those often. I’m happy to be here.” I winced as a small pain from my newly damaged nose hit me and he saw it as he sat on the porch next to me.

“Still hurts?” he asked, masking a small smile before cracking up laughing. “Did you like the show?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. And yes it still hurts. Feel free to laugh, you jerk. I would’ve if the situation were reversed.” I said nudging him with my shoulder as he sat next to me.

“If the situation would have been reversed, I’d still be pushing inside of you until you begged me to stop and even then I wouldn’t,” he said roughly.

“Dean,” I groaned, standing slowly to turn in front of him. “You have to stop saying things like that. I can’t justify spending time with you to my
boyfriend
. It’s not fair to him,” I scolded as I squeezed my thighs to stifle the ache between them. Standing in front of him now in nothing but a pair of short shorts and a tight fitting tank, I felt bared to him. The automatic light from the porch came on and washed us both in half-light. Our eyes were locked as my pulse escalated. The shift in air between us was filled with electricity. He reached out with both hands and placed them on my thighs just above my knees. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep as the pads of his thumbs began to caress the top of them.

“I remember how good you felt, Dallas. How your body reacted to me every time I took you,” he whispered, leaning forward, sliding his hands up slowly and purposefully before tearing them away and whispering softly, “I can’t imagine a worse kind of hell than seeing you in front of me again and not being able to touch you.”

“Dean, you said you would leave it alone,” I reminded, getting lost in his eyes. I felt my nipples peak in arousal and he didn’t miss it. We stayed like that for several minutes, both of us on the edge and inching closer. Finally, I took a step away from him and he exhaled, breaking our connection. He stood and walked back into the house. My eyes stayed trained on the door as my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Josh.

“Hi,” I said enthusiastically, trying to mask the emotion of my last conversation.

“Hey, babe, you haven’t texted all day,” he said, sounding concerned.

“I’m with a friend who has a sick mother. We are trying to get her taken care of then I’ll be coming to you,” I offered.

“Who is the friend?” His words were ice. I knew then I was going to catch hell when I told him the truth.

“Josh, it’s not what you think,” I explained, sitting back down on a harsh exhale. “And you have to trust me.” I added forcefully.

“I don’t trust him, and I won’t apologize for that,” he said sternly. “I’m trying. Dallas...look, I don’t want to fight. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Just hurry up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he said carefully. The front door opened again as Dean extended an ice tea. “Dallas?”

“I love you, too.”

When Rita made it back to Dean’s mother’s house, Dean surprised me by taking a detour on the way home. We pulled up to the brightly lit track and I turned to him in surprise. He reached behind his seat and then held out his hand to me. I made out the stopwatch in his hand and gave him a sideways look.

“Exactly what are you thinking, Martin?”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“About what,
old man
? There is no way you still have the speed.”

“Care to wager on it?”

“Nope,” I said, exiting the car. I heard his laugh as he popped his trunk and pulled out his old track shoes.

“Afraid you’ll lose?” he said, exchanging his shoes and tying them the way I’d seen him do it a hundred times. His shorts were too long, and I couldn’t help but smile that he had kept the same shoes all these years.

“Afraid of your impending injury,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. As we walked and approached the track, I felt the inevitable drift of the memories we had made here. Hours of practice led to hours of nights we talked until the timed lights clicked off. Sometimes he would take me driving after, or out for food, others he would simply keep talking far after we were supposed to have left.

“Good times here,” he whispered as he lifted his foot behind him, stretching his hamstring.

I’d loved everything about watching Dean race when we were young. I loved the layout of the clay track, the emotion of the race, and the fact that Dean was unstoppable. It was as if there could never be anyone faster. I admired his athleticism so much. I pushed him hard because he simply was the best and his record reflected that. Without another word to me, he began his warm up in a slow jog around the track. I admired his physique the way I had so many times before, with the exception of the fact that the beautiful guy he used to be had turned into an even more stunning man.

“Three,” I piped as I always did when he rounded the corner. When Dean got into the zone, he often needed a reminder of his progress. When he was fully warmed up, he took his mark and gave me a nod.

I shook my head and humored him. “Ready, set, time!”

A few older women circling the track for their nightly workout hollered out their appreciation as Dean took off like a bat out of hell, shocking us all. Something inside of me swelled, maybe it was pride, maybe it was recognition of the days when Dean blazed across the very clay he was racing over now, but I fell right back into step.

“Get the lead out, Martin. A geriatric could do better!”

I wasn’t positive, but I thought I could see a small smile form on his lips at my comment as he flew past me on his first lap.

“Three seconds off!” I hounded as the women stared at me with contempt. It never failed, even years later, there were always groupies. “Seriously, Martin, hang it up. You don’t have a chance!”

I narrowed my eyes at the two women who were openly ridiculing me, and that had just joined the Dean Martin fan club.

“Suck it, ladies!” I said loud enough to hear their answering gasp. Dean cornered the track slightly winded as I dug in.

“You’ve lost it,
old man
. Time to burn those shoes and invest in some Dr. Sholls.”

I saw his face contort and recognized something I hadn’t seen in years. When Dean began to race toward me, I panicked and threw the stopwatch down as I began to run from him. “Angry Spaniard!” I screamed in a laugh as I raced toward the women who were now just as terrified from the spectacle. I felt the rush of air leave my lungs as Dean tackled me in the middle of the grass. The women laughed hysterically, clapping for Dean as he pinned me down under him.

“Seriously I thought you were a good coach?” He grinned down at me, droplets of sweat trickling down his now loose hair.

“It worked.” I grinned up at him.

“Did you tell those women to suck it?”

“No,” I said, looking at him like he was delusional. “But I have to say your groupies are getting a bit older than you are used to, but no less willing.” I rolled my eyes as Dean waved a polite hello to the two women openly ogling him.

“Why did you stop? Worried you wouldn’t make your time?”

He rolled off of me and lay next to me on the grass, his chest heaving as he answered. “I didn’t have anyone to beat.” He looked up at me in question. “What was my time?”

“I don’t know. I dropped it when you charged me,” I said with a chuckle.

“Looks like we have both lost our touch,” he murmured as he sat up next to me.

“Speak for yourself, Martin. I’m still sharp as a tack.”

“And just as painful as one in my ass,” he whispered as he looked at my bare shoulder. Suddenly aware of how close he was, I began to move when his words stopped me.

“I stopped in college, my first year.”

“I never did ask you why you did.”

“I didn’t have my coach,” he said softly, his eyes still on my neck and shoulder. “It wasn’t the same without you. I didn’t care if I won. I didn’t have my girl to win for anymore.”

“Oh, no, Martin you don’t get to blame me for that one,” I whispered back as he inched forward his eyes intent on my skin. “You were racing long before we met.”

“It wasn’t fun anymore,” he whispered even lower.

I averted my gaze as I smiled ruefully. “I will never know how—” My words were cut short as soft lips pressed against my shoulder. I turned to study those lips as they tasted my skin. Dean’s lashes fluttered as his kiss drifted slightly higher, and I pulled away just as he leaned in further. My movement seemed to sober him only slightly as he looked at me with desire so intense my sex pulsed.

“You can’t do that,” I said softly.

“Dallas—”

“Take me home, Dean. Please, just take me home.”

The ride back to Dallas seemed longer than the ride out. Dean hadn’t said more than a few words to me since we left the track.

“Dean,” I said, looking his way, his dash lights making his solemn face more heartbreaking.

“I deserve it. I deserve all of this shit. I’m the one who left my family, left you, so don’t fucking pity me.”

“I’m still here. I still care a great deal—”

“But you
love
him,” he reminded me, taking his eyes off the road for a second to glance my way.

“And you were going to marry her!” I said impatiently. “You come home
after
seven years
and expect everything to be the way it was? That’s ridiculous. You expect too much. We can’t just go back. It doesn’t work that way. Things aren’t the same.”

“I get it and they clearly aren’t,” he argued. “My father is dead, my mother is losing her fucking mind, and the woman I was supposed to marry has moved on. I get it. I left. I’ll deal with it.”

“Well,
we
had to,” I said, looking out the window, not caring about his reaction.

“I regret it every day, but that changes nothing,” he said as he sped up, changing lanes to take my exit.

Neither did crying myself to sleep.